


Tired of Sleeping Alone

by iammisscullen



Category: One Direction
Genre: Headcanon, M/M, Oneshot, a bit angst, zarry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-17
Updated: 2013-12-17
Packaged: 2018-01-04 22:36:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1086463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iammisscullen/pseuds/iammisscullen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry was tired of his chaotic life. He needed peace. The problem was where would he find it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tired of Sleeping Alone

**Author's Note:**

> So I got the title from Harry's [Don't Let Me Go](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rDqoIhiUJp4) song. And I just have to say that I am so in love with The Fault in Ours Stars so don't blame me. Enjoy! :) xx

_“When you love someone…truly love them, friend or lover, you lay your heart open to them._

_You give them a part of yourself that you give to no one else,_

_and you let them inside a part of you that only they can hurt._

_You literally hand them the razor with a map of where to cut deepest_

_and most painfully on your heart and soul.”_

– Sherrilyn Kenyon

 

**

Have you ever felt all alone in a crowded room? Harry has. Almost always. When he attended the fancy parties, fashion shows, etc. Even when he was surrounded by a hundred screaming fans, asking for his autograph and picture, on the street – Harry felt alone. And he was tired of feeling it, though the unfortunate part was that it won’t go away.

Harry was fine with the fame and all because it helped him and his family – financially – and as he saw, he had inspired so many people that all the negative of being famous was buried six feet under. The biggest downhill of fame though was that has stripped Harry of so many things and it continued to break him down to pieces when people start to take away parts of him – the ones he didn’t want to share with anyone else. And fame was slowly killing him but somehow it wasn’t merciful enough to take away his last breath.

Not that he was begging death to take him away because he felt awful, thinking of the hurt that it would cause his family, especially his Mum. Besides, he wasn’t the suicidal type. Or maybe he was, but he won’t admit it. But if that was the case, he was comforted by the thought that he wasn’t the only one who had ever thought of ending one’s life. Everyone had their own share of that piece of pie called, Moments-Of-Weakness.

The big question was, until when will he be able to remain strong? Until when will he manage to keep out the demons that haunted him even in his sleep? Until when will he hold on?

Harry was yet again in New York, spending his night at some hotel he doesn’t remember the name. His band mates have been designated to a different hotel and that pained him. He was all alone again. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, because he was tired. He wasn’t tired physically but his spirits were low, that was for sure.

It was the same old game that he was playing. Well, Management made him do it. They said that it was for the band but it was also at Harry’s expense. Last year, they forced him to date Taylor Swift. And this year – as if it wasn’t cliché enough that they choose, yet again, December – it was Kendall Jenner. A Kardashian.

He has nothing against the family in all honesty. But the Kardashian’s lives were more dramatic than Shakespeare’s _Romeo and Juliet_. His life alone was full of drama and he doesn’t want to add more. Apparently, Management has other ideas. If only Harry knew that this was what would become of his life he should have grew more skins to survive this fame-storm.

Yes, his fame was the epitome of a storm. It was always changing, erratic, destructive, and it was this force of nature that he couldn’t control. But then like a storm it was something to be awed, a beautiful imbalance of the universe and when it happened, it was both magical and tragic. Harry’s fame was an oxymoron, that was how he saw it. All he does was savoring the moment because he told himself that he’ll get the tranquility he wanted after the storm. After all of this – the fame and all – was all over.

**

Harry joined the lads at NBC’s studio. He knew that after last night – the whole staying into the same hotel as Kendall – his name would be on the front page of every tabloid newspaper in LA and maybe some other places. He doesn’t care. He no longer does because it would be the same old story about him and his womanising issues. As if any of those were true to begin with. But then, it was enough to send his name to the list of infamous celebrity. Hell! He even won a Villain Of The Year award.

Not that he minded, because he doesn’t. But he wasn’t a robot not to feel anything at all when people bombard him with an endless list of insults. His crystal heart that he protected so much got broken at some points but he was able to fix it, and in the process he cut himself as he picked up all its pieces. He always swore that he’d never let it get crashed again but they all penetrated through his shield and armour and break his heart. His fragile and tired heart. And with bloody hands he picked it up again and jigsaw puzzled it together and hoped that it won’t get thrown at the ground once more because he was tired. He was tired of fixing himself when almost everyone around him wanted him broken.

Harry needed freedom, the kind of craving he has for air. So he headed to the fire exit staircase, knowing that no one would be there. No one would bother to look for him there. But when he opened the door that led to the stairs, he was surprised to see Zayn sitting there.

Zayn was as shocked as Harry was and the tan boy looked like a kid who got caught saying a bad word by his parents. That was when Harry noticed the tiny black velvet box on Zayn’s hand.

‘I’m sorry,’ Harry said and looked away from Zayn’s hand. He didn’t know why he felt guilty catching Zayn because there was nothing he should be apologizing for. But he did because he felt as if he was able to see something that Zayn didn’t want to share. And Harry can relate to that, he understood how it felt to be robbed of everything. Everything, like he owed the world every single thing, even the blood that ran in his veins. It wasn’t fair.

When Harry looked away, Zayn hid the small velvet box in his pocket. Both lads pretended that nothing happened. They stared everywhere, except each other and a fog of awkwardness fell around them.

‘Where are you going?’ Zayn asked when Harry opened the door that led to the hallway.

Harry turned, to be face to face with Zayn. He wasn’t raised impolite. ‘I…uhm…coz…I thought you…alone,’ Harry explained – or he tried. Zayn’s serious face broke into a huge grin that was all teeth and tongue. Harry blushed, embarrassed and he doesn’t even know why.

‘You can stay Haz,’ Zayn assured with that same soft smile of his that only a few had been qualified to witness. And Harry felt honored to be able to see Zayn’s warm smile. ‘It’s really okay Harry,’ Zayn added, noticing the look of hesitation on Harry’s face. ‘I don’t mind if you keep me company.’

Harry slowly moved towards the flight of stairs and sat beside Zayn. He occupied the other end of where Zayn sat.

A moment of silence passed between them. It wasn’t awkward nor was it comfortable. It was like sitting beside a kind face person who was waiting for the same bus as you were and no one else was around. So you were not sure if you were suppose to start a conversation to keep you both entertained while waiting for the bus to arrive.

‘Is it really okay that you’re here?’ Zayn asked, shooting a short glance at Harry’s direction.

Harry was taken aback as to why Zayn was asking him such a question. Didn’t Zayn tell him – in plain English – that he could stay? Now the tan boy was asking Harry something that sort of hinted that the younger lad should go. Harry’s confused.

‘I heard that Kendall is here,’ Zayn said as if reading Harry’s mind. The other boy frowned. ‘You’re supposed to be with her?’

It was an innocent question but Harry was annoyed. Why can’t Zayn just leave him alone? Why does Zayn have to ask questions? Why was it all about Kendall? Why can’t he be free for even just a few minutes?

Harry stood up and was about to leave because he doesn’t want to start an argument with Zayn. But the tan boy’s hand grabbed Harry’s elbow. And when the younger lad looked back at the older boy, Harry saw regret and desperation all over Zayn’s face.

‘Don’t leave me,’ Zayn muttered quietly, there was a hint of hesitation and reluctance that melted Harry’s heart because he knew the other boy meant it. It wasn’t rehearsed but rather something that Zayn didn’t want to say but couldn’t help himself saying. So Harry doesn’t leave and sat down beside Zayn, but they kept a good distance between them.

They weren’t touching but Harry can still feel the pressure of Zayn’s hand on his elbow. They have enough space between them but Harry felt as if Zayn’s every breath was touching his neck. And all Harry can concentrate – as he tried to look busy by playing with his fingers – was every sigh that Zayn let out. The silly thing was that, Harry mirrored Zayn and it felt weird. It shouldn’t be, it was just that Harry had read before that only people who loved each other mirror one another. Harry wanted to freak out but he consoled himself that he loved Zayn but not in love with the other boy. That was okay, right?

‘It was my grandma’s,’ Zayn spoke and it startled Harry as if someone had suddenly woken the green eyed boy from his slumber. Zayn was holding that small velvet box again – the one that Harry caught him with before. The younger lad didn’t even notice that Zayn took it out.

Harry didn’t know if he should ask Zayn what was in the box because obviously it was a ring. But then maybe it wasn’t. Half of him was curious as to what was so special about that tiny box but half of him was scared that he’ll ruin that short moment of tranquility with Zayn. Harry can feel that Zayn’s guard was down, that even the younger lad’s own armor was stripped. So Harry remained quiet, he even wished he could silence his own breathing, afraid that he might blow away all the good vibes around them.

‘Do you know what my ideal proposal is?’ Zayn asked, not directing the question to Harry. It was as if the younger lad wasn’t there, like the tan boy was simply talking to himself.

Still, Harry doesn’t answer because it seemed like a rhetoric question. He doesn’t want Zayn to stop speaking and Harry was tired of listening to his own voice. Besides that, he always loved hearing Zayn speak because whatever came out of the tan boy’s mouth, it was always sensible. Zayn always think things thoroughly before saying them.

‘I don’t want anyone with us when I ask her the _big_ question.’ Zayn smiled and as Harry stared at the boy, the younger lad can tell that the other boy was imagining it in his mind. ‘There would be no movie to watch and I would be very nervous as we sit on my couch eating pizza and listening to Drake.’ He smiled again like a little boy excited for school to be over because his Mum had made him his favorite snack. And Harry’s heart literally somersaulted inside his chest.

Harry was seeing a part of Zayn that the boy refused to share with the rest of the world. But not with Harry. And somehow it meant something.

‘We’d be talking about anything.’ Zayn glanced at Harry. And as if Harry’s gaze burned him because Zayn looked away immediately. The tan boy’s eyes fixated on the tiny box once more. ‘Our most embarrassing experiences, our plan for the future, events we will never forget. Anything.’

A long silence dragged and Harry thought that it was the end of the story. That maybe, Zayn did get what he wanted.

‘And as she lay on top of me. Her ears on my chest. My lips on top of her head.’ Another long dramatic pause. ‘I’ll ask her to marry me.’ There was a bitter smile on Zayn’s lips that made Harry conclude that the boy never got his wish.

_She_ , _Her_ , those were the words that struck Harry the most and his heart broke a little. But he doesn’t want to be selfish. This time it wasn’t about him. Thank God, it wasn’t about him. Then why does he want it to be about him? Why can’t Zayn make it about Harry? Why can’t that happen?

‘Why didn’t you?’ Harry asked, curiosity got the best of him. He titled his head to the side as his whole body turned to face Zayn.

There was that desperate look on Zayn’s face again – as he stared back into Harry’s gaze – like if the tan boy doesn’t answer the question, he was scared that the younger lad would leave. And paired with it was hesitation.

‘I don’t know,’ Zayn answered and looked away because they both knew that Perrie wasn’t the one for the tan boy, that was why he didn’t do it. That was why Zayn didn’t use the engagement ring – an heirloom − that his grandmother gave him. Zayn, like Harry was a victim of their fame. Zayn needed to get engaged and Harry needed to date girls he doesn’t love. All for the sake of fame, forced by Management.

‘Okay,’ Harry said. It was the polite thing to say and he couldn’t find other words to fill in a space that couldn’t be occupied.

‘Okay,’ Zayn mirrored.

Harry didn’t mind that they sort of sounded like Hazel Grace and Augustus. But he doesn’t want the ending of that love story. No, it was too Rose and Jack. He wanted another ending, the kind that no one disappeared in the end. Harry knew what he had to do to get his own happy ending. Sometimes we just have to take a risk and be courageous enough to write it ourselves.

And that was what Harry aimed for when he muttered the boy’s name and Zayn turned to him. Harry stared long into those hazel eyes – and cliché as it may sound – it felt like he was home. Maybe because he knew that Zayn can relate to him in so many ways. They were always the one being attacked by the media with insulting issues, out of nowhere they had somehow generated a bad name – and it still puzzled Harry how it happened when Zayn was a good hearted boy and he, himself wasn’t that bad either, in his opinion.

Zayn waited for him to continue and Harry wasn’t sure anymore if he should. All of his courage disappeared; he was wearing his armor again. His instincts kicked in and his priority was to save his heart, that calm – most of the time – little thing that pumped blood was now erratically beating as Zayn continued to look at him.

Harry smiled sadly at Zayn and shook his head as he said, ‘Nothing.’

Zayn’s face fell. Harry saw the disappointment and he wanted to be remorseful but he can’t. He needed to protect himself. He was not going to be vulnerable.

Harry stood up and headed for the door, a thousand of thoughts forming on his head as he walked that few feet from the stairs to the door. His heart was breaking a little, knowing he should have done something but didn’t. His mind reasoned with his heart, telling it that it was for the best. His heart would survive a little heartbreak but not a big one. So yeah, it was for the best.

Words were always left unsaid anyway, right? Not everything needed to be said aloud because sometimes it was better if they were never out of the mouth. Once they were said, you can’t take them back. But does he want that? A famous person once said, _20 years from now, you’re going to regret the things that you didn’t do than the things that you did_. Was it also applicable with words?

Zayn hesitated when he told Harry about his dream proposal, right? But what made Zayn brave enough? Harry wondered. What made it easy for the tan boy? Was it even easy to put things out there, out in the open?

Harry knew it wasn’t so he looked back – he usually doesn’t. Zayn was still on the stairs, looking like a sad lost god from Olympus in his velvet suit.

‘Okay?’ Harry asked.

Zayn looked up, surprised that Harry hasn’t left yet. ‘Okay.’

And at that moment, Harry understood what Hazel Grace meant about her and Augustus’ third world – a world of their own where no one can touch them, not even cancer. Harry felt like that with Zayn, in that staircase exit where no one can hurt them and point out their flaws or criticize their religion and manners. He wanted that world.

‘I’m tired of sleeping alone,’ Harry declared and went out of the door. There, he said the words that he could never take back. He has given Zayn the razor and the map to his heart and soul. He had given Zayn the accessed to where the boy should cut that would hurt Harry so much. Harry has once again put his fragile heart at risk, put it on the line.

Harry didn’t bother to watch Zayn’s reaction, afraid it would be something he wasn’t equipped for. He wasn’t sure if Zayn knew what he meant but then the other boy was smart enough to decode things. All Harry wanted was to share a piece of him to Zayn as the other boy did, but the younger lad wasn’t prepared that he would lay out his heart out and now it was all on the tan boy’s hands on what to do with it.

**

There was a knock on Harry’s door. It was already almost 3 in the morning so it seemed suspicious. He feared that it might be some fans and he wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone because he as tired. Physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausted. He pretended not to hear it in the hope that whoever it was would just go away. But alas! That didn’t happen.

Three more knocks and Harry still hoped that it won’t bother him all night – early morning – so he could get some sleep. The only luxury that he wanted and his body ached for.

Suddenly it was silent and Harry was relieved that the stranger decided not to bother him anymore. But it scared him when the latch opened. The stranger had a key!

It couldn’t be Joni – the one Paul assigned to watch over Harry – because the bloke could have just knocked once and let himself in if he was going to check on Harry. The curly haired boy panicked and thought of ways to defend himself it if was a serial killer. He searched for an object that could be used as a weapon.

‘Harry?’ a voice – that sounded like angels harmonizing – called for him.

Harry never felt more relieved to know that he was safe, that it was only Zayn. And scolded himself for thinking of serial killers, he needed to stop watching _Hannibal_.

‘In the bedroom,’ Harry replied to Zayn. The room was melancholically quiet but Zayn’s soft footsteps were enough to dispose of the gloom that lingered with Harry. And suddenly, the tan boy was on his doorway. The glamorous suit was changed and on its place were a hoodie and a pair of sweatpants.

‘Can I come in?’ Zayn asked as he stood there   − looking like a model, fresh from the runway – at the doorway of the bedroom. It was so Zayn to be impeccably polite.

‘Yeah,’ Harry answered and Zayn strode in. The older boy started removing his clothes and Harry’s heart raced at a high speed. ‘What are you doing?’ Harry couldn’t stop his voice from being pitchy as his heart was suddenly on his throat. Zayn chuckled and Harry felt like he had just said a very bad joke and it was humiliating him.

‘Chill mate,’ Zayn said as he finally removed his pants and was now only on his boxers.

The rational part of Harry’s brain told him to look away, that there was nothing to see. But he didn’t obey it because his brain was functioning like the Internet Explorer. He had seen Zayn go naked before when they were all changing clothes, but this time it felt so intimate with only the two of them. In a hotel bedroom and the mood was plain dead serious.

Zayn got on the bed and plopped himself next to Harry. The younger lad was playing with the duvet and pretended as if it was as important as eating.

‘Aren’t you going to sleep?’ Zayn asked him. And Harry wanted to tell the other boy that how can he sleep when the lad’s with him on bed and almost naked! But Harry didn’t, instead he lie down next to Zayn. There was that, not so anonymous space between them again. The same one that seemed to be not there, but Harry knew better.

Zayn was on the same position as Harry, lying with his face to the ceiling. His breathing wasn’t even yet so Harry was sure that Zayn hasn’t slept yet.

‘Why are you here exactly?’ Harry asked. Since Zayn’s not sleeping and the tan boy’s not going to let him sleep then, might as well talk. The silence was deafening him.

Zayn moved and lie down on his side so he could see Harry. The younger boy copied the tan boy.

‘I’m not exactly sure,’ Zayn answered.

Harry wanted to scream at the older lad and tell the boy to man up because Zayn’s acting like an indecisive girl. But he doesn’t because he wasn’t sure either as to why he’d let Zayn in.

And as if Zayn had read Harry’s mind, the older boy let out a deep sigh. Zayn ran the back of his fingers, softly over Harry’s cheek. Harry instantly stopped breathing and his heart was wide awake again.

‘Maybe because… I don’t want you to sleep alone,’ Zayn said quietly, his breathe landed on Harry’s face and it smelled like cigarette and spearmint.

Harry wanted to question why was Zayn so close to him now? But his Internet Explorer of a brain was suddenly updated into Google Chrome as he found his face inching closer into Zayn’s. He stared into those brown eyes that not even the darkness could steal their lights. Then his eyes darted into Zayn’s lips and looked back into the boy’s eyes. Zayn didn’t say anything so Harry took that as  a sign and inched his lips closer until their lips were touching.

Harry only closed his eyes as soon as he felt Zayn’s lips against his because he couldn’t stop looking at the boy’s eyes before they kissed. He wanted to remember that glorious image of Zayn throughout his lifetime. The one where Zayn doesn’t backed away when Harry moved closer, knowing that the tan boy wanted it too.

Harry held Zayn’s face with both of his hands as he tried to get a better angle because he doesn’t plan on letting go when the other boy was kissing him just as hungrily. It was all lips at first but when Harry moved to be on top of Zayn, the younger boy took that opportunity to dip his tongue into the tan boy’s mouth. He doesn’t care if he was being slutty as he explored Zayn’s mouth with his tongue because they had their share of kissing each other before. One time, out of curiosity and the rest – he doesn’t remember how many times they have kissed since they’ve met because it was all blurry – was when they’re drunk. And they get wasted a lot.

Zayn groaned in Harry’s mouth and the green eyed boy could listen to it all his life. It was so erotic and cute at the same time. His brain wanted to process that he just called Zayn _cute_ because it wasn’t the best description. Niall was cute, but Zayn’s a fucking sex god.

Harry wasn’t sure who backed away first but both of their lungs were in glee to be tasting air again. Foreheads still connected, both were panting in the lack of air, they looked into each other’s eyes as if to ask, what the hell just happened?

But before Harry could muster a reasonable answer, Zayn spooned him and kissed his forehead. Suddenly, everything was so calm despite the storm because Harry was on the eye of tornado. Zayn was that little piece of tranquility that he yearned for because he now understood that the storm would never be over as long as he was living. There will be new hurricanes to conquer everyday but Zayn would be there as well to give him some peaceful moments for him to mend his broken armor.

‘And maybe because I got tired of sleeping alone too,’ Zayn confessed and placed a kiss on Harry’s temple.

And Harry’s heart does this triple somersault but it doesn’t bother him anymore because he can hear Zayn’s heart doing the same thing as well. Maybe that was what Harry needed all along. He never needed so many people around him or someone to sleep with him so he won’t feel cold and alone. What he actually needed was someone whose heart, beat like his.

 

_Fin._

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Massive thank you for reading! It means a lot to me that you're spending your precious time reading my rubbish work. Comments? Kudos? Feel free. And if you want you can message me in [Tumblr](hopelessly-inzayn.tumblr.com) :) xx


End file.
